RILEY

ART HAS ALWAYS BEEN IMPORTANT TO ME.

It's not just a little paintbrush. It's not just colors fusing together. It's much more than that. It's apart of my soul, my feelings, a little piece of my heart and a piece of me. If I'm feeling like crap, I promise it will show in my work. There's nothing I can hide when I put pieces of myself in everything I do. Everyone has something that keeps them going. Something that's helped them out of a slump, out of depression, out of feeling worthless. Art has been that for me, drawing and painting has been my saving grace.

Growing up, I've always been creative.

As it is for anyone, you walk before you can run. I was an art admirer first before anything else. My first painting—meaning the one I can remember ever seeing for the first time— Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh and I was six. My mother hung the painting on the pristine wall behind our museum-like couch. I think she purchased it to fit into the color scheme of the living room, not because she knew who Van Gogh was.

That painting has been with me for all the years of my life after seeing it. The colors latch onto me and refuse to let go. Starry Night bears witness to every mood imaginable from my childhood to my rebel teenage years and now my college life. Well... until Labor Day. Oftentimes, the painting appears as if it's moving with me if I stare at it for extended periods of time.

There's no doubt the talent that Van Gogh was. I'm sure the painting that was remade doesn't do his actual work any justice. The cosmic world he created with brushstrokes and the touch of his fingers did was something extraordinary and changed the way we view oil landscape paintings forever. Among the darkness, there are sources of light too with the yellow he displayed. He made a mark struggling with his own battles of feeling unworthy and after the fact skyrocketed.

And in case you're wondering, yeah I've had the looks when I came to Taft University. You know, the one where people hear what your major is so they can provide their unsolicited opinion.

And it goes something like this:

Their lips part, eyebrows curve and eyelids lift so highly I'm seeing their sclera. "Who goes to college for art?"

Then the head shakes. "Oh, that won't pay the bills."

And last but not least, the Debbie Downer disguised as a realist. "You have got to be realistic in life. That's like saying I'm going to be an actress. I won't be."

It's not about the money. Yes, money makes the world go around. I know bills have got to be paid. But I do this for me. For my mental health and my genuine love. I won't be forced to come to Taft and do something I don't like to please others. Trying to please people results in getting fucked in the end and it's not worth it.

Among all of that, there are people who truly understand how difficult it is to further a passion. The hard work, the dedication and genuine love. I call those people my friends today.

If I listened to everyone who had something negative to say, I wouldn't be here.

Swan Lake by Tchaikovsky flows through my headphones gracefully. Oddly enough, it's the only type of music that helps me remain focused while painting. The musical soundtrack wraps my ears like a satin ribbon. I'm in my zone. All I need right now is a fine glass of red wine and a lit cigarette between my fingers. Those are the vibes I crave, something chill yet spectacular. Immaculate. It's needed right now.

The problem? It's not Friday night and I'm not alone in the art studio.

With that being said, I'm still painting with dedication and devotion. My brush strokes are precise as I warp the paint around the features of the portrait and soften the area where the skin and lips meet. My eyes sharpen on the curve of the mouth, working with light and dark.

A gentle tap on my shoulder forces me to drag my headphones down to my neck. I'm back in the real world with everyone else and it's so ordinary, so regular, so basic. Hazel Langley, the girl who's easel stands closest to mine appears in my sight. She doesn't say anything, instead she uses her eyes to communicate with me. I should know that Hazel wouldn't say anything. She doesn't speak unless she has to and honestly I can't say I blame her. She's super shy and timid and even though I'm the exact opposite of her personality type, we both have something in common. We get to the studio, do what we need to do and leave. There are no friends here and there's no need to communicate with others to drag out the session and waste time. For that, I respect her.

"Great to have you back Riley." My studio professor says. "So, do I have everyone's attention?"

Professor Grimshaw's cool. Probably the most chilled elder I've come across. I've learned that she's confident in her skin and loves makeup, her face as she likes to call it is a blank canvas and she paints it exactly how she's feeling. White clouds and blue eyeshadow pop on her wrinkled eyelids today. She looks great, like she'd hand out cookies in a nice grandmother maternal kinda way.

I dip my fingers into the pocket of my apron and pause the song. There. My undivided attention. What do you have for us Professor Grimshaw? Spit it out.

Call it telepathy but I swear she reads my mind. Her eyes are on me. "If you want to be a part of The Book Show. Remember that the deadline to submit is this weekend. You will be notified if your work was chosen and only ten of you will be with ten art pieces each."

Mumbles immediately circle around the room.

"This is exciting." Jade, the bubbly girl at the front of the room claps her hands and grins so wide her cheeks must hurt.

Even Hazel glances at her before Jade notices that she's the only one in the room clapping. It's not that none of us aren't excited along with her. We are. It just doesn't need to be shown when the real shit is hitting us. While we were all aware about The Book Show, it just became real. Because now it means we have to be serious and throw our hearts and souls on a platter to be judged, not only once but multiple times if we do see our work at the exhibition on December six.

Jade's wide smile disappears and her eyes peer around the room, finally realizing the condition. I watch as redness spreads across her face and her hands drop her sides in embarrassment.

"Yes, Jade this is exciting."Professor Grimshaw comments for the sake of Jade's dignity. "I'm looking forward to all of you submitting your work. Best of luck."

The Book Show was huge for us. I've never been a part of it because I've never submitted. Which has saved me from rejection. I wanted to attempt it this year.

All those Friday nights when the studio becomes mine? I paint tirelessly in preparation. Ten art pieces is a collection and it can't just be pulled out of my ass.

The pressure is on since only ten of us will be chosen but I'm not worried, all this does is ignite a competitive streak inside of me. It's crunch time.

I'm walking out of the studio when my phone rings. I fish it out and it's my Mom calling. She's saved as her first name. Dolores. That's where we stand with each other. I debate with my thoughts to answer the phone. She kicked me out and I'm just not sure she deserves to hear my voice. Breakups hurt, but having a parent like my mother hurts more.

What could she possibly want this time?

Paying my tuition doesn't cover the fact that she never showed affection. Then in the same breath she threatens to cut me off. Never showed up to anything important since I was a child. Rarely makes a home cooked meal. I'm not saying she can't be going through her own thing but instead of preventing her children from going through it or feeling the slightest shit she went through, she inflicted her pain on us and now I'm carrying that weight on my shoulders. The worst thing a mother can do is put her affairs over her children and I don't think I can ever forgive her for that. She has no idea how much her actions shaped the person I turned out to be.

I blink. The cool air brushing against my cheeks and blowing into my eyes. On the screen of my phone, a missed call appears like I haven't watched it ring. Clicking on the phone app, I notice that there's a voicemail and I play it.

VOICEMAIL
Dolores
Detroit, Michigan
November 6, 2023 at 11:40am

Transcription
Riley, it's me. Uh, I know you don't want to hear from me. I wouldn't want to hear from me either. I... I didn't want you to be right. There's just been a lot going on and I'm just reaching out to you now after all this time because I'm... I'm just so ashamed. I know you hate me and I want to speak to you so please call me back when you get this.

Her voice is so raspy from all the cigarettes she smokes on a daily basis I wonder if I'll sound like her in five years. My chest tightens at the thought. Anything remotely close to her or being like her makes my skin crawl. I'm too far into my smoking habits to just end it all at once because I'd definitely have withdrawals, yet if this isn't my sign to change then I don't know what is.

I tap into Cole and I's conversations and send him a quick text.

ME:
Have you heard from
the woman who gave birth to us?

A reply rolls in quicker than I expected.

COLE:
No
Have you?

So, after all this time she's been calling Cole to tell him how he's the favorite and ignored me for weeks after kicking me out, now she knows who her only daughter is? The tables have turned and they turn fast.

Now I'm supposed to hear her out on her own time? And comfort her because she's ashamed? It's bullshit. Where was my comfort when she was putting all her men over me? Over Cole? Honestly, many people wouldn't deal with her back and forth, they'd simply delete her from their lives.

Which is why I lie to Cole. I tell him that I haven't heard from her and then I delete the voicemail. It's an out of sight, out of mind thing.

I want to enjoy the rest of my week. I can't do that with my mother as the forefront.

"Hey Riley!" A feminine voice calls from behind.

Breathe. You're going to enjoy the rest of your week.

Well, after I find out why I'm being summoned.

I stop walking and whip around with my phone gripped tightly in my left hand. I'm face to face with Jade Driscoll. Loose blonde curls frame her round face, and she flashes me a polite smile with pearly whites. How could she be so friendly on a Monday morning of all days? Why does her smile look like an ad for toothpaste? And why oh why is she still smiling after the awkwardness in the studio?

"You dropped your sketchbook. I figured you might need it." She stretches out a hand between the two of us and clearly it's my sketchbook.

When and how did it fall out?

Then I see it. One of the straps of my tote bag slipped from my shoulder. My sketchbook could've easily fallen out when I'm walking, the bag bounces repeatedly on my hip which jiggles everything and the fact that my attention was on the voicemail I subconsciously blocked everything else out. Makes sense.

"Oh."That's a good reason to call out to me. I can't be mad. "Thanks. I didn't notice."I get a hold of my sketchbook and offer Jade an appreciative smile. If I don't, she seems like she'd hide in her shell like a frightened armadillo.

She believes I don't know her name because she quickly provides it. "Jade. Jade Driscoll."

"Yeah. Thanks Jade. Riley Becker, I've been your classmate for years."

Her cheeks turn pink right in front of me when she registers my tone. "Right. You're uh welcome. I like your bag."The confidence she normally wears cracked from earlier and now she's just people pleasing, embarrassed and shy.

"Thanks."

With that, I hurry along the platform and I don't stop walking until I reach my destination. I'm at my apartment faster than Usain Bolt at the Beijing Olympics. The front door flies open before I could do it myself.

Mattie, my blonde bombshell roommate and friend grins at me. "There you are Riles! Just in time." She tilts her head and I know what she's doing before she says anything. She's trying to get a good grasp of my sweater. "Society has a distorted perception of beauty." She reads out loud, "I agree with you. Sucks I'm leaving again but we have to talk about what you want to do for your birthday next weekend when I get back." Ah yes. My birthday didn't even cross my mind at all. Not until Mattie mentioned it. Then she leans in and plants a glossed kiss on my cheek before she's off, leaving the scent of lavender in her wake.

On Mondays when I come home from seeing Professor Grimshaw, Mattie's got her first psychology class of the day.

"Riles, get in here!"Sutton, the other roommate who was also missing all weekend invites me in. "I need your help real quick."

Unlike Mattie, Sutton's a creative writing major so she spends most of her time reading, preferably with a screen in front of her face. I've stressed enough that too much screen time is the downfall of her eyes but Sutton never listens. She'd shove her glasses up the bridge of her nose and continue.

I stroll into the apartment, using my foot to lock the door.

She's sitting on the living room couch with her tanned legs folded, comfy cushion on her lap and on top of that, her addictive laptop. "I'm going through a script I wrote and I want to know if the dialogues sound good okay? I ran a few lines with Kie before she left and she literally said it needs some razzle dazzle. I'm going to read it out loud now so do tell me what you think."

"Let's hear it."It's the perfect distraction from my mom's voicemail, my deadlines and plans for how I'm going to celebrate my birthday this year.

——
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Happy New Year! Any 2023 resolutions?

Who is your favorite parent and why?

What would you have done if your parents called you when you're not on good terms?